


Unspoken

by glitteratiglue



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Plot What Plot, Romance, S1 x 11 'Haven', Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1489939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteratiglue/pseuds/glitteratiglue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two ex-lovers reminisce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Series 1, Episode 11 'Haven' (otherwise known as the one where Troi has an arranged marriage, Riker spends the whole episode pouting, Lwaxana is her usual hideous self and there's a talking Betazoid gift box). Unapologetically smutty. I really just like making these two have sex.

Stars streak past the window, piercing blades of light in the inky darkness, and she watches. It's the same view that she always sees when the _Enterprise_ is travelling at warp speed, but there's something comforting in that. It never changes. She imagines Wyatt out there now, on his doomed Tarellian ship, but with the woman of his dreams. The majority of the crew think he's mad for doing so, as do his parents, but she disagrees. To have such conviction and strength to do what you think is right is a quality she greatly admires. It's a quality she feels sorely lacking in at the moment, especially when it comes to her feelings for Commander Riker.

She can sense him standing outside her quarters before he even presses the door chime. He's hesitating, wondering if he should come in or not. She sighs, exasperated.

“Come in, then.”

He enters. In the brief light from the corridor before the door shuts behind him, she sees his face, and it's guarded. A haze of relaxation—no doubt syntheholic whiskey-induced—surrounds him, but there's tension beneath it, and something darker that she can't quite pinpoint.

“I'm sorry, Deanna.”

“No need to be, Bill. We barely knew each other.”

“You know, people usually call me Will now. I'm not overly keen on Bill.” He grins.

“Will it is. Why are you really here, Will?”

He sighs. He's trying to hide it, but she can feel his giddy, overwhelming relief that she's still here on this ship and not with Wyatt.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. And, honestly – I wanted to know where this leaves us.”

“It is a little strange,” she says mildly. “I was getting used to the idea of being married, and now everything's changed.”

“I know.”

“You're glad I'm not,” she tells him.

“Would you expect me to be anything else?” Will Riker's eyes are hungry on hers, and she can feel the hopeful tenor of his thoughts. His mind's always been an open book to her, and right now is no exception.

“I suppose not.” She turns to face him, peering at him in the gloom. “I guess this whole experience has left me feeling a little bit lost. I can't seem to centre my mind.”

“Imzadi,” he whispers, closing his eyes and she can feel him concentrating, trying to push back against her mind _. Let me help you._ The thought-casting requires supreme effort on his part, and she's momentarily impressed he can still remember to do it.

 _How?_ Is her silent question. In answer, he reaches for her and their fingers tangle together and hold tight, bodies moving closer until their faces are inches apart. She can smell the whiskey on his breath, and something else, that's more heady, more _him._ When he kisses her, it feels like an inevitability, and his lips are soft and sweet and gentle on hers, only briefly lingering before he pulls back. It's not erotic, or even romantic—she can sense in his mind that he's only looking to comfort her—and that's what seals her decision. 

 _Take me to bed, Will._ She watches his eyes widen.

“What?" 

_Make love to me. I know it's what you want. Don't you want me, imzadi?_

His breaths are hot and heavy against her lips, and he shudders against her. _You know I do._

“But didn't we say that there would be complications, serving on the same ship? That it was better to...avoid temptation, however hard that might be? 

If it was anyone else, she would believe his earnest tone, listen to the compelling arguments he's making and perhaps accept them. But it's Will—after all, with her empathic advantage, she knows his mind even better than he does—and she can sense how conflicted he is. He wants her, of course, but he's struggling with the idea that they can simply transition into being lovers again after tiptoing around each other for months. His control is rapidly disintegrating, she knows it, and when she reaches up to trail fingers over _that_ spot at the base of his neck, the one that drives him wild, stroking gently, he makes an unintelligible sound in his throat. He's _so_ hard—no doubt she can feel him straining against her thigh—and she's melting into him, their bodies pressing closer, her breasts heaving against his chest. It's getting more and more difficult to think clearly, to remember all the reasons why they shouldn't do this. 

“Deanna.” His voice is low, and it's a warning. It's almost physically painful being this close to her and not being able to do anything about it. She looks up at him, her eyes shining, and he decides he doesn't care. Their lips come together, and the kiss is hungry and searching, her fingers carding through his hair as she roughly pulls him to her.

They'd never do this if this was just about satisfying base physical needs, or recapturing the passion of a romance long dead. It's not that those factors aren't in play, but they're subservient to the need to feel the closeness of that connection they can only have with each other, their bond; their _imzadi._  

He pushes her uniform downwards, mouthing along bare skin at the place where her neck meets her shoulders. _God, I want you. I'll die if I don't have you,_ he thinks at her, filling her mind with flickering, erotic images of everything he'd like to do.

She feels a wet rush between her legs at Will's typical intensity, the confident passion and purpose that had always made things so good between them in bed. _And I'll die for wanting you_ , she replies. Her hands slip under the hem of his command shirt, finding heated skin beneath, taut muscle and sinew that she knows so well, teasing until he impatiently draws back and pulls it off. His arms slip around her waist, pulling her close, hands sliding down her sides to pull her uniform down so it pools at her feet. She kicks away her boots, flashing him a coy smile that he returns.

“Computer, lights.” They blink as the room floods with light, and his eyes are greedy as they flicker over her form, drinking in every inch of her. She's never been shy about nudity—a necessity of a Betazoid upbringing—but Will's gaze is making heat rise in her body, her skin flushing as if the environmental controls just jumped ten degrees. 

 _You're lovely. But this won't do._ His fingers reach up to her hair, styled into its elegant up-do (he'd always hated her hair up, perhaps a subconscious reason why she'd been wearing it like this recently). He fumbles at the fastenings, making a frustrated noise that amuses her.

“Let me, Will.” With a deft movement, she reaches up and unfastens the delicate, bejewelled hairpiece, throwing it carelessly on the floor as if it wasn't a Fifth House heirloom once worn by her mother and grandmother. 

 _You're even more beautiful like_ this. His fingers tangle in her hair, teasing out the long curls that cascade over her shoulders, pulling her to him, kissing her. The kiss is hard, forceful and everything she wants, because it's _Will_ and oh, he knows how to do this. Heat flashes over her skin, his dizzying, surging desire for her pushing itself into her mind as she opens herself to him. It's not as if she's been celibate since they were together, but nobody knows her like he does. Nothing can compare to this, the feeling of their minds brushing, their mutual passion surging between them, augmenting every physical sensation.

 _Need your skin on mine. Now._ She smiles up at him, at how disjointed his thought-castings are becoming the more aroused that he gets. She pulls at the zip of his trousers, freeing his hardness to slide them down his long legs while he rids himself of his boots and remaining clothing. Curls her fingers round his length and feels him pulse in her hand, stroking until he makes a strangled groan and grabs her wrist.

He pulls her toward the bed—regulation Starfleet, the same as his,  but she knows he loves that he's going to take her on _her_ bed. She's breathless with anticipation as he sets her on the edge of the bed. A hot mouth's instantly against her nipple, tongue circling it before he gently bites down, drawing a soft moan from her. His hands are simultaneously tugging at her underwear, sliding it down her legs as he kneels at her feet.

His thumbs brush her thighs, just barely, and without warning he's pressing them apart insistently, mouthing kisses between her breasts, down her stomach and lower, lower, _oh God, Will, please, please_ ,  _need you._ She laughs breathlessly when his teeth sink hard into her inner thigh, enough to leave a mark. And then he just stops and waits, his hair brushing against her thigh, fingers pressing to her hipbones to hold her still. He waits and waits, breathing out over her where's she's wet and aching, so close he could move less than an inch and he'd be  _there._

 _Please_ , she almost screams, already trembling and taut and completely undone.

 _I love it when you ask nicely._ She looks down to see him grin at her—that infuriating, Will Riker grin—and then his mouth is on her with no warning, wet and warm, and it's so so so good, and how could she ever forget it was like this? She writhes against him, held down by his strong hands as he licks and sucks at her, opening her with his tongue as he bares his mind to her. She's dizzy, hardly breathing as she falls back against the bed, hands flat against the sheets as his tongue finds her clit and traces slow circles. His thoughts freely flood into her mind, uncensored images of him doing this to her on the bridge, in the captain's ready room, the observation lounge, stellar cartography...

_Love the way you taste. I missed it. You don't know how many times I've thought about this._

His tongue flicks hard against her clit and her hips jerk, but she manages to stay composed enough to reply in her mind. _I do, actually_. _Empath, remember? It certainly makes things awkward on the bridge sometimes when I can tell what you're really thinking._  

Then she sees herself in his mind, spread out for him, naked on her bed, the way she looks to him, shaking and flushed and desperate to come. It's enough to purge any remaining thoughts from her mind, anything but the burning need for release. When he draws her clit into his mouth and sucks on it, hard, it's more than she can bear and she comes, shaking and crying out, pushing against his mouth, _Godyesfeelssogood_ and _pleasedon'tstopeverever_ and _imzadi_ rushing into his mind from hers. 

He pushes her up the bed, climbs up to rest on his knees and lunges forward to capture her lips again, his mouth wet and tasting of her. She can feel that he's hard and aching, and when long fingers slip between her thighs, curling against just the right spot, she almost screams, still pulsing in the wake of her climax. She's lost in the need for him to fill her, to feel that deep stretching ache; there's nothing like it. To feel everything so completely as she only can with him. 

Will draws in a sharp breath as those thoughts reach him. He pulls his fingers from her, a warm hand at the base of her spine pulling her flush against his body even as she whimpers at the loss of contact. Gently, he presses her legs apart, lines himself up with her, and then there's that delicious pressure, somewhere between pleasure and pain as he pushes inside.  He groans into her neck because this is all he wants, ever, _Deanna Deanna Deanna_ , and he forgot how good she feels, her fierce heat gripping him and her in his mind and around him and within him.

“You're perfect,” he tells her earnestly, his voice ragged and low. “How could he not want you? I _always_ want you.”

Will's unexpected honesty catches her off guard - even if she sensed it in his thoughts, she didn't expect him to say it. She's on the verge of falling, losing herself in how amazing it feels to have him inside her. It's been so long, and she  _wants_ this, has wanted it for so long, but she holds back the thought, some part of her still afraid to let him know how much this means.

She's still, arching her back, nails digging into his shoulders, tensing against him. They don't move for a second, just stare at each other, and his eyes are tender as he leans in to kiss her. There's so much feeling in the kiss, relief and a quiet kind of desperation that she knows only she can bring out in Will, and suddenly she's trembling, barely hanging on to her last remnants of control.  

“I told you, I'm not really upset,” she says around his lips in mild irritation, even as he draws back and pushes forward with one deep thrust that steals her breath.

“Mmm. But he's crazy. Maybe I should count myself lucky. If he knew what it's like to be inside you, _fuck_ , how you feel, Deanna...”

He wraps fingers round the back of her thigh, pushes it up into her body, allowing him to sink deeper. _I never thought I'd get to have you again. I couldn't bear the thought of him being with you like this._ The relationship with Wyatt never went beyond chaste kisses, and he knows that, but she likes Will like this, the possessive, irrational human male that he is.

“Oh...” she breathes, eyes closing, holding onto him for dear life as it's almost too intense. And then she falls into his mind, enveloping him, letting her own pleasure blend with his, a sensation that would overwhelm a lesser man; that is, one not used to a Betazoid lover. Her hips roll into his, meeting every thrust as she arches into him, moaning softly as her nails rake down his back. He drops her leg and she wraps them round his back, dragging him closer, deeper. They can't get close enough, sinking beneath each other's skin, their bodies melding together as effortlessly as their minds. 

His eyes squeeze shut, every muscle in his body tensing as he grabs her hip roughly, stopping her. 

 _Will! Don't stop._  

 _If I don't stop it's gonna be over now. Won't last._  

 _But I'm close, imzadi._  

 _No. Want to watch you come for me again first._ Will Riker is nothing if not determined, and he's going to do everything to ensure that he won't be the one to end this first. He wants to watch her fall over the edge, feel her pleasure pushing into his mind to sweep away everything else. His palm glides over her stomach, fingers reaching down to make slow circles over her clit as he thrusts slow and rough, shifting the angle of his hips until she cries out and he knows he's right where she wants him to be.

“Deanna...wait...please.” He's panting against her neck, fighting the urge to just _come_ , shaking with the effort of holding back. But it's Deanna _,_  she knows his body and his limits, and exactly what will push him over the edge. After all, if she wants, she can reach into his mind and hold him back, keeping him on the edge, but he has a feeling she's not going to play fair this time.

Her nails scratch at the small of his back, making him shiver and involuntarily shift forward, plunging back into her in one shattering thrust. Teeth scrape his neck and then she bites down, hard, letting down her remaining mental shields at the same time. He's hit by an onslaught of raw emotion, arousal and Deanna, his _imzadi_ , she's there in his mind, twining with the white heat that's spiralling in him, and it pulls him over the brink like a tide. He comes, harder than he has in a long time, and nearly blacks out as he spills himself inside her with a groan.

As he returns to himself, he hears her laugh softly, and turns his attention to his hand that's still trapped between them. She's far gone enough from experiencing his own orgasm that it takes just one brush of his thumb on her oversensitive clit and she's breaking, shattering, crying out his name both out loud and in her head, _Will, Will,_ “Will, oh God, yes, yes." Her release floods into his mind and it's overwhelming, the bright, sharp burn of pleasure so intense that he has to close his eyes against the sensation. She feels the spark of pride from him that  _he_ made her feel this way, tinged with his awe at being able to experience it with her.

 _Looks like I won, imzadi._ Her grin is playful as she props herself up on an elbow, pressing a light kiss to his lips. He rolls his heavy frame off her, slumping to the sheets beside her, intertwining their hands without even thinking about it.

“I feel like we both won.” He leans in to kiss her, runs shaking fingers through her tangled hair, pushing it off her face.

They're silent for a few moments, sated and relaxed, enjoying the peace of their shared connection until slowly, reality starts to return. Sweat dries on their skin, both the room and the atmosphere cooling as the giddy endorphins wear off. Looking around, they take in the fact that they're both naked, the covers are half-off the bed, the sheets twisted around their feet. He abruptly gets up and reaches for his uniform. She sits on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the sheets as she watches him dress.

“Deanna,” he says with a tight smile, and just like that, he's all-business Will Riker again; consummate professional and capable First Officer of the flagship. 

“Commander.” He flinches at her use of his rank, but can detect nothing from her, the mental shields she's spent a lifetime perfecting back up again. 

“No regrets, _Counselor_?” he adds, emphasising her title, and she doesn't miss the childish petulance that accompanies his words.

She shakes her head. “None. I think it's best we got it out of our systems.”

He nods curtly, but he's always been terrible at keeping his emotions in check, and she can feel them bleeding through. It's wrenching for him to leave her now, and so it is for her. But she holds that particular thought from him, maintaining her control. It's better if he doesn't know. 

After a long soak in her bathtub, she's brushing out her hair ready for bed when she senses him in her mind. It's a surprise, and she's too exhausted to shut him out, given that her sense of him is heightened anyway after what they just did. He's conflicted, about his feelings and about what they just did, and oh, he _wants_ her. He's dreaming about her being in his bed right now. She stifles a laugh at Will's utter lack of self-discipline over his thoughts. 

_You never answered my question, Deanna. Where does this leave us?_

_Where do you want us to be?_  

_Don't do that. You know what I want._

_I do. But you know what we talked about. You'll always be imzadi to me. The first, and beloved._  

_And you to me. Perhaps it's my failing as a 'young human male' - wasn't that what you said, in not being able to keep my feelings for you separate from my carnal desires?_

_I couldn't separate the platonic and the physical, either, Will. Not with you. Call it a failing of my human side._

She feels him relax infinitesimally, the tension in his mind uncoiling. 

_I don't want to rush you, Deanna. It's been so long and we missed each other, and we were confused. Maybe we should wait and see._

_Give it time. After all, we've got all the time in the world on this starship to see what we become._  

 _I'm not going anywhere._ The connection dulls, and she feels his mind fuzzing into sleep. 

Both of them know that might not be true. It likely won't be long before Will is offered a ship of his own again, and who knows where the stars will take her? 

She gets into bed, giving herself over to sleep with the comforting brush of his mind against hers.

It's enough for now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, so I apologise for the odd mistake, dodgy fragments or typos. I actually think the episode is terrible, but all the Will and Deanna bits are pretty cute.


End file.
